


Maryland's December

by 1Forrest1



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24540817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1Forrest1/pseuds/1Forrest1
Summary: Fully clothed, Ivan laid himself down on the bed, palms flat against the feeling of the fabric, he breathed audibly, allowing his broad chest to rise and his stomach to compress, it was raining outside, so Ivan had left the window open, the electric coolness of the outside laid beside him through the night. Ivan did not sleep. He did not stir until the sun found its way up the sides of the buildings the next morning. His palms still laid flat upon the bed.“Alfred.” Ivan whispered, his eyes trained on the spots and stains of the ceiling above him. “Alfred. What are you feeling.”
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

It was comically warm in Washington D.C., even in the climax of winter. The snow teardrops flowing from the sky in constant currents were too fat to do anything but stick to heads and cars and the ground. It was not cold, nor was it dark, the wind was mild and the snow fell on its own accord. Buildings and cars were freckled with white cotton frost and only footsteps showed resistance against the blanket of December on the sidewalks of the city.

People still did go out, perhaps thinking they were exceptionally resilient, like the the cold was not something they needed to be afraid of, they kept their heads ducked despite this, then, hands in pockets and nose in jackets, they were very resilient.

Children were on the streets instead of cars, though they raced each other if they met, cars would not move faster than an assertive pace, children could run on smoking embers if given the chance. Houses were lit to battle against the stark whiteness of the season that was perhaps more deafening than the darkness of summer, skeletal trees shook quietly in muted acceptance.

It was happy despite the mundane exterior of the city, people walked with more hope than they probably realized they were carrying, cold does not sadden people, cold only wakes them up from the dazed lull drawn by summer heat.

Though, perhaps then, they were already sad in the first place, they needed to be woken up by the white light of winter cracking their skin open.

Ivan did not sit on the bench for any reason other than he needed to think, very deeply, about the more intricate scopes of life. How words were sewn together in delicate patterns that some understood, and others did not, and the ones that did not tended to dislike it, therefore, and how that was, then, how opinions were formed. How opinions were clearly a result of a level of understanding.

Ivan had certain opinions. That he would like to share. If he weren’t so worried. About how he would be understood.

Ivan had a very unpoetic job to do at the current moment, that did not involve the bench or the innate sadness of winter or the fat snowflakes that kissed his cherry nose. He had documents to deliver to a comrade of his, who resided in Washington despite running the world.

He says he runs the world. Ivan only sees him running it over. But that is only what he understands.

Ivan breathed deeply, watching his cloud of breath soar taller that him, throwing snow chunks off their feathery path, winter gave many physical indications of life beyond emotion that Ivan liked. In winter you feel cold and annoyed, cold and sad, cold and alone, cold and powerful. You could see the life you literally breathed into the world, the winter winds breathing back.

Ivan rose and turned to the street, watching people watch themselves in their head, thinking about their thoughts, what they thought about him, themselves, their country, planet, reality. How much they understood, what they chose to understand, what was fed to them, and what grew as a result. Who were the racists, the diplomats, the mothers, the sisters, the wives, the beaters, the shakers, the criers, the Americans, the titles.

Titles. Words. Words with meanings that were based intricately on a universally understood matter of definition.

Ivan had forgotten his address. And so he walked further. His comrade was truly expecting the documents, needed them, asked him and Ivan had told him he would bring them. He finds himself looking toward the sky and pondering why he had accepted the request, and then further onto asking himself why he accepted anything. He did not need to accept anything, but it was a fundamental requirement of society so perhaps therefore he did. Ivan wonders what would have become of him today had he said no to his comrade’s request to bring him important and classified documents. Perhaps he would have asked again, made Ivan, maybe bargained with him, paid him. Perhaps right now Ivan could be delivering the document with a wad of cash in his chest pocket all as a reward for changing the way he responded.

He did not speak much, which was an inherently good thing because his level of understanding was vastly greater than people that spoke enough to negotiate how to deliver pieces of paper. This is why Ivan had correct opinions.

Ivan did not truly forget the address, just the destination, which is not a poetic notion at all because it is too abstract to be comprehended on any attainable level. Ivan thinks about the structure of poetry and what foundations abstraction is built on.

His comrade lived in a notably large house for residing in the heart of Washington, Ivan wonders what large houses said about a persons heart, mind, spirit, life, love…

Ivan tried very hard to understand his comrade, he only found himself reading words struck together with no conceivable meaning, he could not read this poetry because perhaps it was not poetry at all.

Though maybe it was, and he had yet to understand it, the door he was looking through was only slightly ajar.

Ivan walked up the steps and stared at the door of the house on the street in the city, studying the brass door knob and thought of his own home, he came from outside of St. Petersburg, in a shack in the climax of winter, the first person to hold him was his sister, who he misses very much. He understands he cannot see her again, though he does not understand why, the words explained to him that day did not bring conceivable meaning.

Ivan opened the door on his own, his comrade was expecting him, though not so much as to be waiting for him, his comrade does not wait for anybody. He does not slow down for others, he does not have time for excuses, explanations, he never turns around to look, not even to question why he stumbles from running so fast.

“Hello.” Ivan did not call out, he announced, though the nuance is hazy. His comrade did not answer, nothing did, not even his own voice echoing in the dark foyer.

Ivan walked to the couch and considered leaving the documents somewhere unobtrusive but noticeable, then remembered his comrade does not sit around long enough to look for anything, it always finds him.

Ivan would find him.

Taking off his boots, and then his scarf after an impulsive blank thought, only to put it on after feeling too cold without it, Ivan walked deeper into the large, cavernous house.

“Alfred.” Ivan announced a second time, he spoke slowly so he could hear his own voice and understand what others perceived of him better, “I have the documents that you had asked for.”

His comrade did not answer, Ivan would call him, on his phone, but Ivan does not reach out to people, he finds them himself, just as his comrade does not wait for people to come to him, he brings himself to them. They were very opposite in that manner, maybe, if Ivan could explain it better.

He ascended the stairs, which shifted uncomfortably under his socked feet, the carpet decorating the floor beneath his body told a dark history that did not get acknowledged enough, by anyone. The entire house was young and ageless, it did not look busy, nor dead, it looked like a maze to Ivan. Perhaps its actions could be justified if someone took the time to sit down and comprehend them.

“Alfred.” Ivan announced, “do you remember that I am coming.”

Ivan also does not ask questions, he takes what he is given and makes do, and if he cannot then it is his burden to understand.

Ivan began walking into rooms, reading the story that they tell, watching each word mold itself into the past, the bathroom holds a picture of two men standing outside of a brick building, looming behind them is a dark flag that could not resemble anything other than the era when the world shifted so hard it fell.

Ivan considers his own dark history as he moves down the shadowed hallway, he did not have pictures, despite the stories they told, that were manipulative, and two dimensional on multiple levels.

Ivan then heard noises, at the head of the hallway, behind, presumably, the only closed door in this particular wing. Ivan thought of going home afterwards, sitting and thinking, of how it was not truly his home, he only stayed where he was commanded, he did not ask questions, he made do.

The noises, when Ivan made his way to the door, were soft and hidden, secrets of a remarkable history.

“Alfred.”Ivan announced.

He opened the door with a soft click, the hinged wood breaking through, making a soft swish against the carpet as he prepared his eyes to read and understand the secrets of history.

Only there, before him, was not a history he had been taught nor bred to understand.

Ivan’s expression, which did not break often, because he enjoyed making people understand how he felt without guidance, fell into the remorseful shock so pained he felt his skin strain at making such a movement.

His comrade, who it must be, because that’s all Ivan could perceive at the moment, was faced away from him, face hidden, unreadable, not understandable because Ivan had not meant to read it in the first place.

Faced away from him, naked, wearing nothing but a layer of glittery sweat on his back, barren but for the socks on his curled feet. He was knelt away, feet nestled under his buttocks, moving the muscle up so that a shadow crested over his back where his ass met it.

Like machinery, his hands were working his front, in a fluid, experienced piston, stroking up and down, an invisible although entirely known object was being loved upon. His other hand was palming something further up his person, his shoulder blades worked the hand that worked around his pectoral muscles.

The noises that came from his lips, lips which were invisible to Ivan, who’s own were dancing between different positions, from gasps to frowns to grimaces to curious bites to stifle noises loud enough to disturb the trance he was in.

The noises that came from his comrade’s lips were soft and suggestive, the were loud despite this, to Ivan especially. In the quiet of the house, the only thing that accompanied them was the soft slap of flesh against wet flesh, and the creaking of the bed beneath him. They grew louder with each passing moment. As his comrade’s back arched, the sweat glimmering across his supple buttocks and curved spine danced and shifted.

Ivan wet his lips, his legs were weak and his stomach ached, his intestines were pooling down below him, he could not look away. He did not understand it and perhaps he needed to.

The quivering of his comrade’s muscles was like a physical echo, starting from the center and traveling outward, so that everything from the tips of his mustard hair to his curling toes was shuddering in unadulterated ecstasy.

Ivan kept his gaze on the workings of his comrades arm, which appeared to dictate how the rest of his body reacted to his actions, he moaned in time as his hand dipped deeper between his legs, his ass tensed and back curved in time with that, consequently.

He threw his head back at such an angle that Ivan could see the corner of his lips and eyes, which were screwed shut in bliss, so Ivan could keep watching, he needed to understand what he was reading. The most unpredictable story of his life thus far.

His comrade’s mouth was damp with saliva that trickled down its corners, lips parted unsubtly as he cried to himself.

At this newly introduced angle, Ivan introduced his gaze to in between his comrade’s legs, not much was visibly except the highlights of his hair, and the goosebumps on his shaking flesh.

Though Ivan watched steadfastly as the pace of his comrade’s wrist fell in time with the beating of his own pulse. His cries became more strained, exponentially so.

Everything was growing tenfold with each passing seconds, the bouncing of his whole body upon the mattress in time with the undulating of his hand became so exaggerated Ivan needed to tear his face away, he could not bear to watch him reach his climax.

He did not, for once, demand an explanation for himself, as he tore his entire frame from its position.

From his peripheral, despite preparing to run, he could see his comrade’s golden frame tense up, his muscles dropping their hold as he offered a final, shuddery cry, releasing himself with pants and groans of relief, before slumping over totally.

Ivan closed the door as quietly as he had opened it, turning around on legs that did not belong to him, he watched from blurred lenses as he lead himself down the stairs to the foyer.

Hands that were not born to the body he had lived with and understood forced feet he had never used before into boots. He left the documents on the floor in front of the door. His comrade could not miss them there, he prayed.

The heat in Ivan’s stomach grew and festered even as he continued with haste unseen before down the street.

His mind was unrelenting, taking what he had seen and making sense of it, then offering him more from there. What his comrade looked like from the front, just what his hand was working, in what way, how hard.

Ivan was sent reeling into his apartment with thoughts of his comrade fondling himself fluidly, every inch of his body shaking visibly.

Ivan did not understand. He was unable to read close enough, he could not without catching fire.

He sat on his couch and imagined the cold, his shack, his sister.

The fire within him did not die until he put it out himself.

* * *

Ivan had never felt so morbidly ashamed in his life, he sat on his bed, kneeling in the same position his comrade had been only 2 hours early.

2 hours. That was all it took for Ivan’s chilled and immaculate persona to crumble as his brain analyzed and reanalyzed the pictures it had been so gracefully offered to him.

Ivan was panting, so quietly that even he was uncertain if it pertained to reality. His bedroom window was open, the black picket fence outlining the balcony was complimented by the flowers that quietly grew a top it. Silk curtains beckoned Ivan to step outside into the world as he was, so that people might understand him better.

Ivan moved like a machine, though perhaps that is what he resembles most truthfully. A computer, a calculator, no heart in his chest, only drive. Ivan readjusted his pants with mechanical fingers as he watched the window wistfully, he wondered offhandedly if anyone had seen him. It did not matter, however, they would not have understood.

As Ivan stepped outside, the coolness of winter met him, welcomed him, smelling distinctly of nostalgia. It had stopped snowing, though the soft white puffs had done their damage to the city. Ivan watched, wistfully, as people bustled on the streets below him, they had all but plowed through the snow that seemed to cultivate effortlessly on the ground beforehand.

“Hard workers.” Ivan grunted, nodding to the small listless bodies that journeyed below him.

A knock on Ivan’s door forced him to tear his empty gaze from the streets, he did not answer it. But it insisted.

“Please.” Ivan called from where he stood, eyes not leaving the ground, though his mouth angled its projection toward the door, “come back again later.”

“Mr. Braginsky, are you decent?”

Ivan furrowed his brow at the muffled agitation behind the door, and backed up to answer it, eyes glazed over at the window. He opened the door with his face still meeting the building adjacent to him.

“Mr. Braginsky, what are you looking at?” His comrade did not hesitate to ask, positioning his face blindly where Ivan was staring.

“Yes, Comrade Kirkland.” Ivan whispered, feeling a sensation pool in his stomach, from his peripheral he could see his bed, he could see what lies on it when it thinks no one is watching from encrypted shadows.

“Just visiting to formally remind you that our meeting- God, what are you looking at?”

“Yes.”

“No.” His comrade placed a hand on his shoulder, which burned and excited his senses, “look at me.”

Ivan was jostled out of his trance as his comrade dragged his face to meet his, he looked far away from concerned.

“Our meeting tomorrow is scheduled for 9 in the morning, in the grand plaza.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know where that is?”  
  
Ivan’s gaze focused on a muddled painting of a meadow that was decorating the hallway outside to the best of its ability, it reminded him of his homeland, he smiled ruefully as his brain shuffled idly away from the bedsheets behind him.

“Yes.”

“Are you sick?” His comrade was close by, though Ivan was too far to acknowledge his presence, he was walking waist deep into a meadow, he had no clothing on his back except for a tattered scarf that shielded him from the world.

The meadow expanded forever, there was no horizon to acknowledge. Behind him, though Ivan dared not turn around, there was a foreign, yet welcoming presence, it offered guidance to Ivan, he must turn around however.

Ivan stared at his listless feet below him, which seemed to be traveling forward on their own volition, Ivan craned his neck despite this, if only to look for himself, at what behind him had to offer.

It was a bed. With a mahogany frame and thick pillows with rich white sheets. The bed was empty yet unmade, albeit recently used. Ivan wrinkled his noise as his stomach churned both toward and away the intruding object. He did not wish to stare at it, nor its purpose in his mind, though there was nothing else to look at.

“Yes.” Ivan focused his gaze unsteadily onto his comrade, “but I will get better.” He offered a smile, which was the best he was known to do.

Ivan did not sleep in his own bed that night, nor did he sleep at all. He sat in a chair that occupied the corner of his room, and attempted to study his thoughts once more. The way his comrade’s muscles worked to make his back arch, how his voice careened outward, perhaps in desperate hope for a reply, though perhaps not. And Ivan wrinkled his lips in deciding whether or not he would respond.

He realized he had seen his comrade in perhaps his most vulnerable state, which offered some clarity on the situation.

“What is to understand.” Ivan said to the wall he was facing, the concept of time defined the hour as 4. “I see something I am not supposed to. I am not to understand.”

Then why did Ivan want to learn about it more, to go back and observe from a better angle.

“Perhaps it is better to watch than understand.” Ivan concluded to the shadows dancing across his wall, painted by a city that never sleeps. “Or perhaps, understanding comes with more watching.”

Ivan went to his bed.

* * *

Ivan did not attend the meeting. Though he was there. His mind was on his bed, feeling it, feeling himself, feeling him. When his comrades spoke, Ivan listened, though did not acknowledge. When his comrade beside him spoke, Ivan listened, but did not acknowledge.

“Tы в порядке?”

Ivan bristled as the comrade beside him slurred his native tongue, momentarily jerked out of his bed, his meadow, he had not looked at anyone since arriving, he suddenly felt rather foolish, especially upon realizing that the meeting had stopped for him.

“I am here, comrades.” Ivan murmured, eyes flitting around the room, refusing to settle.

“Please excuse Mr. Braginsky, he has not been feeling well as of late.” Ivan’s comrade Kirkland spoke up, eyes rested on him with a wary surveillance.

“Yes.” Ivan said.

“What are you thinking of?” Ivan’s comrade beside him spoke up, Ivan turned to observe him, mind already drifting away with the lull of conversation.

“Comrade Bonnefoy.” Ivan nodded, did not acknowledge, “I am only thinking.”  
  
His comrade seemed put off by Ivan’s aloof response, he snorted and shifted in his chair, Ivan went unbothered for the rest of the meeting.

Even after, as he sat among the socializing persons around him, their energy bouncing off one another and multiplying, he went unbothered. No one of importance spoke to him, though he was aware that this would not last. His back prickled with the telltale heat of a blush as booted feet marched up to where he was still seated.

“Ivan!” His comrade clapped a hand on his shoulder so hard it rang throughout the room. They did not speak to each other often.

“Thanks so much for those documents, dude, you have no idea. You pretty much saved my presentation!”

_What were you thinking about that night?  
  
_ Ivan spun around in his chair, though still seated, to look fully into his comrade, this was not uncommon of him, nor was it uncommon for his comrade to stare back. “It was not a problem.” Ivan whispered hoarsely, his lips were cracked and white, like winter.

“I totally owe you one.” His comrade nodded, hair getting behind his glasses and past where it was brushed behind his ears.

“Totally.” Ivan repeated, eying the symbol on his comrade’s jacket, of a history meant to be forgotten.

There was a tense pause of silence as Ivan’s other comrades begin to filter out of the room, to a lunch Ivan had not been invited to. Ivan watched them leave, though did not stop watching his comrade critically. He could not possibly read what was before him, not even as it was staring directly at him, jubilant smiling fading more every second.

“Ok, well—“

His comrade turned to leave, though Ivan was not finished yet, he was stiflingly close, he just needed to ask the right questions, move in the proper manners.

“Comrade Jones, make it up to me tonight.”

His comrade turned around for a second before sneering, “not if you call me that.”  
  
Ivan did not waver.

“Fine. What do you have in mind?”

“A dinner.” Ivan said blankly, only then rising out of his chair. “You will pay. Naturally.”

“Naturally.” His comrade mimicked, rolling his eyes, “all you really did was deliver some papers.”  
  
“I saved your presentation.” Ivan brushed past him with enough force that his comrade was forced to turn with him. “You totally owe me one.”


	2. Chapter 2

Out of the goodness of the starved cavity in his chest, Ivan brought his comrade to a classic American diner. His comrade seemed more keen on talking to him after Ivan gestured vaguely to the crowded building, rock music was heard at all angles, guitars, band t-shirts, heads of deer, bear, and other creatures adorned the walls. Photographs of prominent figures visiting the restaurant with their signatures took up the space behind the seating area.

To Ivan’s credit, he understood the culture behind the classic American diner, its appeal was very particular, but Ivan always enjoyed its intensity, it was an emotional place, quite frankly ugly with emotion. Everyone felt something, it muddied the bars with tension and drunken euphoria. 

His comrade was a regular at the diner, as he personally greeted every busty waitress that walked by with a smile. Ivan focused his gaze on the snow that had once again began to drift lazily downward outside, it was pitch dark, the sky only mildly grey where fat storm clouds hung overhead. The street lights gave the snowdrops shadows, and the cars whizzing by sent them into a tumultuous dance.

Ivan did not know what he would talk to his comrade about, they were only acquaintances after all. Ivan did not consider any of them to be his friends. He supposed, after breathing out deeply as his comrade led them both to a waiting booth, that he would let the questions come naturally, he had watched his comrade to the best of his ability ever since he was first introduced to him. He would use what he knew, and then go from there.

“Have you been to D.C. in the winter before?” His comrade asked him, smiling unnaturally over his thinly wired glasses.

“Yes, of course.” Ivan answered, adjusting his scarf over his neck before folding his hands in front of him, thinking of his bed.

His comrade blew out a puff of air after Ivan did not offer anything else, his cowlick was jostled as a result. “Alright.” He drummed on his lap for a second, “how’s it comparing to Moscow?”

“Pathetic.” Ivan answered. Wondering what his comrade thought about when he pleasured himself. He has considered thoughts more strange than that.

“Hah! I had a feeling you’d—“

“What brings you euphoria.” Ivan interrupted.

His comrade blinked owlishly, eyes darting hesitantly to the side, before his eyebrows twitched as he considered. “I’d have to say eating, I guess…” he shrugged, leaning back more comfortably now that Ivan had seemingly seized control of the conversation.

It could not be that simple. Ivan leaned forward, studying his comrade’s lithe form with a scrutinizing glare. “It brings you more pleasure than anything.”

“What?” His comrade chuckled nervously under Ivan’s stare, “yeah, I mean its what I do when I’m stressed, or happy, or hungry, or sad, or—“

“Are you hungry.” 

His comrade blinked again, trying to consider the dangerous ambiguity of the question, hunting for its hidden meaning. “All the time.” He answered honestly, he was pouting a bit, unsure if there was a punchline. 

“For what.” Ivan saw his comrade’s furious hand, trying to quench him, feed him, but he could not be satisfied, not on his own.

His comrade’s face was patchy, lips parted and dry, eyes saucy and sunken in. How often does he try to feed himself, Ivan’s hooded gaze met his comrade’s in a hesitate battle.

“I don’t know,” his comrade said, “anything really.”

“Power.” 

“No—“

“Fame.”

“Ivan—“

“Love.”

“I need to go.” His comrade jumped up suddenly, throwing his bomber jacket over his shoulders, knocking into Ivan who had stood up in an attempt to block him. 

“What will you think about.”

His comrade sneered, brushing by him, “about what a fucking creep you are. How this was a total waste of a night.”

“You may ask me anything you wish.” Ivan offered. He did not do that often.

His comrade turned around hesitantly, glaring, “what’s beneath your scarf?”

Ivan grinned with his teeth.

* * *

Ivan stayed in Washington. After his comrades departed off to their own countries, he remained, stubbornly. Ivan never questioned his own intentions for the things he did. If his body and mind determined he would remain in Washington until he no longer felt sick at the thought of leaving, then he would listen.

Ivan remained in Washington for two weeks, staying at the hotel off of his personal funds, before he decided he would appear at his comrade’s house again. He had it under good authority that his comrade was still at his Washington estate. Ivan wanted to ask how many estates his comrade owned. 

The pearly black gates were open when Ivan walked up to his comrade’s home. Though the door was locked. This gave Ivan hope for his comrade’s level of intelligence. Americans were stupidly naive. They thought they were particularly untouchable. 

Ivan considered ringing the doorbell, then considered the possibilities of how he would find his comrade if he walked in on his own accord. He then remembered that he was no more untouchable than his comrade, and that the law would swiftly see to his capture if he broke into the house of an acquaintance.

Ivan settled for knocking.

It took his comrade fourteen seconds to open the door, but only three to immediately close it.

Miffed, Ivan pursed his lips and considered leaving, for good, going home, he would simply starve himself of the answers he sought until they withered away and died, but his comrade opened the door again two minutes later.

“Mr. Braginford?”

“Braginsky.”

“The hell are you doing here?” 

Ivan bypassed answering to smother his comrade’s face with his eyes, his cheeks were flushed, though that could be from both the cold and his sudden visitor, his hair was mused, but that was mostly likely because it was eight o’clock in the morning; he had probably just woken up.

“Did you just wake up.”

His comrade curled his lips, eyes drooped and watery without the aid of his glasses, “its early. And I didn’t know you were coming.”

Ivan brushed pass his comrade only a moment before he decided to make room for him to come in.

“Shouldn’t you be back home?” His comrade checked outside, in search of an inconspicuous though newly parked car across his yard, maybe tall men loitering outside his house, before closing and locking his door, padlocking it after brief hesitation. He then moved to closing every curtain in the room, then shutting off the television that was blaring some recorded gameshow, pulling the plug out afterward. Ivan watched all of this with irritated entertainment. 

“I came alone.” He said simply. 

“I’m sure you did.” His comrade circled him warily. “Take off your coat, shoes too.” 

Ivan shrugged, but complied, he placed his boots at the door and dropped his heavy trench coat on the couch. He was wearing a simple sweater underneath, he had mailed his trademark scarf back to Russia to be cleaned after he spilled tea on it. The one he wore now was of American craftsmanship. It gave him a rash.

His comrade’s eyes roamed his body for a stretched few seconds, searching for anything that might resemble a wire, or a holster, before relaxing.

“What do you want?” His comrade now seemed distressed about his own underdressed appearance. 

“To talk.” Ivan stated, sitting beside his coat, his comrade picked it up immediately and brought it out of the room, reappearing seconds later. Ivan had not brought anything with him, not his phone nor his wallet. He knew how skittish the capitalist could be, he wanted answers, not dilemmas.

“About what?”

Ivan shrugged, though with a knowing smirk, “we did not finish our date that night.”  


“That wasn’t a date.” His comrade tensed again, “do you know what a date is?”

Ivan pursed his lips, “our rendezvous.”

His comrade did not respond for a moment, “you were asking me weird questions. What’s up with that? I barely know you.”

“I would like to change that.” Ivan confessed, some sacrifices would need to be made if he wanted progress, “I believe we have more in common with one another than we realize.”

His comrade blinked, though not truly taken aback by the admittance itself, just its nature, where it came from and who said it. 

His comrade seemed to ponder Ivan’s blank though open gaze, he also seemed to accept the fact that Ivan truly was alone, and came on his own accord.

“Я согласен.” His comrade murmured, holding Ivan’s gaze.

Ivan nodded, standing up and offering a hand, all this he was doing out of his own volition. He had absolutely no intention of repairing the shattered bonds between Russia and the United States, he simply required knowledge and understanding. He had seen an intricate part of his comrade unknown to anybody else, it was a privilege. Ivan would hold it close and cater to it until he was satisfied. “Do you wish to head somewhere.” He smiled wryly. 

His comrade pursed his lips, “I’ll get dressed first.” He said, turning around slowly, never letting Ivan leave his peripheral.

* * *

Alfred was armed, it was quite obvious at the way he held himself. He constantly adjusted his belt, shifted his feet in his boots, he made sure his shirt always fell over one side of his hip. It clearly wasn’t a fashion statement, as he looked much too ruffled to appear trendy. Ivan did not mind, he was not afraid of Alfred, despite all his talk of power and domination, Alfred rarely attacked first. He just had a nasty habit of getting involved in matters not concerning him. 

“Where would you like to go.” Ivan said, hunting for the outline of a weapon in Alfred’s trousers. And that wasn’t a euphemism for anything.

His companion sneered, “you’re the one that brought me out here.”

“We are here on mutual agreement.” Ivan corrected, eyes facing the snowy clouds, they helped him feel more at home, though they were weak compared to Moscow’s tumultuous weathers. 

“Doesn’t matter where we go.” Alfred buried his head under his coat, his hair looked dulled as puffy flakes settled atop his head. 

“We will visit the monuments.” Ivan determined, he had never truly gone sightseeing in Washington D.C. before. 

“I see those monuments like, every other weekend.”Alfred complained, “they aren’t even that neat. Except Abe Lincoln’s. Totally rad.”

Ivan could not hide a breathy chuckle, “I have yet to experience it.” He said.

“Fine, fine, fine.” Alfred threw his hands in the air, healthy banter was more in his comfort zone, Ivan briefly considered taking him somewhere private and disarming him, but that would not get him anywhere. He would let the American feel safe. “Don’t expect me to rattle off history facts, though.” Alfred warned.

“I would not want you to.” Ivan smirked, settling into a pace behind his comrade, who pushed through the bustling crowd of the D.C. morning rush. “That’s your loss.” Alfred said, “We have the richest, most interesting history in the whole world.”

Ivan laughed a little louder, to the chagrin of his dear acquaintance. Though he later submitted to listening to Alfred’s greatly exaggerated tale of American heroism and drama.

The cherry trees were Ivan’s favorite part of the tour. They were a gift from Japan, a symbol of friendship.

“…7th, 1941-“

Ivan watch Alfred retell a history he already knew by heart for a few moments longer before interrupting.

“What is your opinion on friends.”

Alfred did not hesitate to let out an exasperated groan, Ivan crinkled his nose as he watched Alfred’s body sag in exasperation, “more weird questions?”  


“That is not a weird question.” Ivan stated.

“Anything opinion-based and philosophical is a weird question.” Alfred argued.  
  
“You are incredibly dull.”

“Look,” Alfred held up a hand to silence the banter as the pair turned away from the cherry trees, “if a question doesn’t have a definite, definitive answer, it isn’t worth your brain cells. Pondering ethics and morals and shit is how wars get started.”

Ivan shook his head though did not respond, Alfred was much too young to understand the importance of asking questions with no real answer, it was how compromises formed. Ivan did not blame his companion, however, he simply hadn’t been in the business long enough.

“I think friends are crucial to one’s survival.” Alfred blurted out so suddenly after a few moments that Ivan glanced down at the top of his head. After another moment of silence, Alfred continued, as Ivan suspected he would. 

“If you don’t have friends, you have no way of knowing what the true world looks like. You only have two eyes, and they only see the opinions and viewpoints of one brain.”  


Ivan quirked a brow, “but then you only see likeminded viewpoints with friends.”  
  
“That’s where enemies come in.” Alfred smirked up at Ivan, though not unkindly. 

“I see.” Ivan said wistfully, folding his hands behind his back as he slowed his pace a bit, relishing in the harsh winds that split his skin and forced his eyes to water.

“I’ve got plenty of both.” Alfred added, perhaps trying to keep the conversation alive.

“I have noticed.” Ivan humored him. 

“Do you have friends?” Alfred asked immediately after. Ivan did not grimace, Alfred was incredibly predictable. 

“No.” Ivan said, “friends are generally used for much more than…  ‘reality checks’.  I do not require their services.”  
  
“That’s the loneliest fucking shit I’ve ever heard,” Alfred breathed. “Is that why you stayed in The States? To hunt me down to be your first friend?”

Ivan shook his head, “not exactly.”  
  
“What do you mean?”

“I am not quite sure myself, yet.” Ivan answered as truthfully as he could.

“Alright, whatever.” Alfred said, bored with the conversation. “Where are you going now?”  
  
“Back to my hotel.” Ivan answered, suddenly turning the opposite way from where the two were walking down the road, “I will see you tomorrow.”

Alfred stopped to watch him walk away, nodding to himself in a confused manner before continuing to walk alone. Onward.

Ivan silently packed his bag on his bed, running his hands through the satin fabric as he haphazardly restored his belongs. He washed his face in his bathroom, the lights dim and reflecting in his marble irises, the small amount of stubble Ivan had permitted to grow during his stay in America was past its awkward, patchy faze, and he saw no reason to remove it.

Fully clothed, Ivan laid himself down on the bed, palms flat against the feeling of the fabric, he breathed audibly, allowing his broad chest to rise and his stomach to compress, it was raining outside, so Ivan had left the window open, the electric coolness of the outside laid beside him through the night. Ivan did not sleep. He did not stir until the sun found its way up the sides of the buildings the next morning. His palms still laid flat upon the bed.

“Alfred.” Ivan whispered, his eyes trained on the spots and stains of the ceiling above him. “Alfred. What are you feeling.”

* * *

Ivan did not offer the receptionist a smile as he checked out of the hotel at seven o’clock the next morning, he did not call for a taxi, nor shield himself from the rain as he walked down Washington, D.C.

He did not blink, hardly breath, as he carried himself to the house that never closed its gates.

“You can learn a lot about somebody, simply by looking at their house.” Ivan reminded himself as he stood in front of the door. A wave of unexpected fatigue washed over his frame, he felt his eyes sag and shoulders droop, shadows encroaching on every angle his body had. He did not knock on the door, today. Alfred opened it for him.

“I had a feeling you were going to show up early today.” Alfred’s crooked leer startled Ivan’s gaze from the tips of his combat boots to stutter and focus on his comrade’s face. Alfred’s face shifted into an unimpressed pout, dark brows arched expressively as he reached his arms to Ivan. “Do you have a bed to sleep on?” Alfred said. 

Ivan’s heart lurched in his chest and he let a soft sigh at the feeling, staring bleary eyed at the man below him.

“It was a joke.” Alfred rolled his own eyes, they were like dewdrops, always big and delicate and glossy. “You look like shit.” Alfred finally added as he stepped aside for Ivan to enter, his heart resided into the caverns of his chest once again, Ivan breathed.

“Your front gate is open.” Ivan told him, trying to counter for the startle he experienced, his shock was causing his fingertips to quiver.

Alfred looked passed Ivan and shrugged, “I don’t mind letting people in. Especially when they need it.”

Ivan did not answer, instead threw himself onto the couch, allowing his bag to clash into the floor beneath him. He felt sick to his stomach. He did not stop Alfred when he picked up Ivan’s luggage and brought it away. 

“I have been unable to sleep.” Ivan confessed, face half squashed by a pillow, tears streaming down his reddened eyes from pure overuse. 

Alfred did not answer for a moment, before coming behind the couch Ivan was taking over. 

“У тебя хорошая кровать?” He murmured after a moment.

Ivan felt his resolve breaking, he could smell something beginning to stir, in the air, in the salty tears that tainted his lips, in Alfred’s looming shadow. 

“Нет.”

Alfred did not disappear from Ivan’s mind, as he finally drifted into a sated unconsciousness. 

* * *

Ivan woke up stiff and confused, sweater draping uselessly off one shoulder. The house was dim, light finding its way in in small patches, pointedly avoiding where Ivan laid, however. The living room was empty, though as Ivan skimmed it with a brain half washed out with fatigue he was able to see small signs of the American’s personality growing and thriving throughout the house. Photos of him and another man, similar in stature though not in nature, adorned the walls and tables. One or two showed Alfred standing solemnly beside a stout, beige haired individual Ivan realized to be Comrade Kirkland. 

Ivan finally stood up, grunting in surprise as his eyes twitched and stars pulsed behind his lids, his temples feeling fuzzy for a few moments before subsiding. He lingered around the living room for a few minutes more, most of the photographs adorning the walls contained the same people, they switched between being purely jovial to a grim, accepting loom.

“Enjoying the museum?” Alfred was leaning against the wall that opened into his small, though modern kitchen. Ivan turned around slowly, lip curling up in a miffed expression as all the light in the room gathered to crown Alfred. Ivan did not enjoy the warmth, it exposed him, like dead bodies being discovered in the mountains after the frost of the winter is melted away.

Ivan’s initial expression of irritation morphed into a keen smile. He would have to write that one down.

“You look very…” Ivan trailed off, nothing except the people in photos remained the same, they were all in different locations, different times, with different moods. “…it seems as though you understand, if only a little bit.” Ivan finally said.

“Understand what?” Alfred snorted, clearly at a loss. Ivan watched intently for the light to filter away from him, to finally parallel the dimwittedness Alfred alway resembled, but it did not falter, it did not even shift any closer to Ivan.

Ivan shook his head. “I do not know.” He admitted sourly. A small patch of sun made its way to his foot, kissing it gently before whisking away.


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred did not say it, but he was not comfortable with Ivan’s presence. The two always remained in each other’s peripheral. Ivan did not remain alone in one room for long. Frankly, Alfred’s insistence of hovering over Ivan made the larger man jittery, he could not consider in peace. To add on, Ivan was unsuccessful in understanding what ailed him. His sleep from that morning —Alfred had informed him that he had slept for 6 hours straight— had gifted him with a stiff neck and spasming back. Though it was better than the bouts of sleeplessness the Russian was experiencing earlier. He deemed this as an improvement, and held the measly success close to his chest, hoping it could grow there.

Ivan gladly admitted to himself that he did not want to stay in America more than needed. He was, to be truthful, unsure of how long he could last here before his bosses called him back, irritated, scoffing at him for wasting all of his vacation time in some half-cultured metropolis on the other side of the planet.

“Do you believe,” Ivan watched Alfred slowly pour him a mug of tea, all Ivan had told Alfred was that he didn’t care for coffee, “that I am sick.” Ivan did not ask. He did not permit uncertainty to fester.

“Sick how.” Alfred did not ask either. Ivan grinned beadily. He was growing on him.

“However you best interpret the word  sick.”  Saliva threw itself onto the young man’s hand, he grimaced and backed away from his guest. 

“You have weird tendencies.” Alfred said truthfully, pouring himself a considerably larger mug of brew. “You watch people very keenly. And  diplomats don’t usually invite themselves over to acquaintances’ houses. Don’t you have a country you should be taking care of?”  


“ Diplomats do not usually allow acquaintances into their homes uninvited.” Ivan did not hesitate to retort. Nor did he miss the blush that grew on Alfred cheekbone. 

“Well, truthfully, I don’t really see us as acquaintances.” Alfred replied. Ivan’s heart lurched and his brows teetered upward with Alfred’s declaration, it was probably the most intriguing thing he’s said to him yet. 

Alfred blushed stupidly at Ivan’s harrowing gaze, eyes particularly big and watery inside of his scratchy-filmed glasses. 

“Like you said before, we seem to understand a lot about each other.” Alfred explained, but did not elaborate.

“Do we.” Ivan immediately pounced, he did recall saying that, however he had already caught Alfred where he wanted him. “Like what.”

“What we believe in.” Alfred started, his voice had gotten considerably lower, though not uncertain. Ivan sensed him beginning to bottle himself up, which was disconcerting, given the fact that Alfred was trying to describe what these two men from other sides of the planet could ever have in common. 

“You do not even know what I believe in, you have never spent a day in my culture.” Ivan shook his head.

Alfred blinked owlishly, “I don’t need to,” he shrugged, “whenever you walk into the meeting rooms I can always tell exactly what you want to happen, and what you’re going to do to get it to be that way.” A newfound air of confidence bloomed around Ivan’s host, he was comfortable and familiar with this aura, though it did not irk him as it did in ages prior.

“Is that so.” Ivan leaned back. Alfred would chase him.

“You think you’re exceptionally well at remaining hidden. You work so hard at trying to understand the minute intricacies of human nature that you overlook the largest, grandest picture God has painted for all of us: not understanding is what gives us a better experience.” Alfred sneered at Ivan with Enlightenment. The sun rays bounced off his glasses as they hit his face, blinding Ivan in their own irony. 

“You are wrong.” Ivan blinked fast. “Deeper understanding is how society runs.”

“You spend so long trying to figure out why Shakespeare named his hero Macbeth that you didn’t even realize the play had already ended. You didn’t even step back enough to understand what the actors were  saying  to each other much less meaning. You couldn’t even stand up to applaud at the end. You were too busy dissecting a small fraction of an infinite puzzle, that’s not even really a puzzle. You’re just standing too close.” Alfred laughed and leaned toward Ivan, to mock him.

Alfred let his eyelids flutter shut, to stab Ivan’s own stupid blindness.

Ivan stood up abruptly. Glowering at the boy in front of him. What had Ivan even come here for in the first place?  Why did he abandon his country for this child?! 

Alfred watched him with a vacantly worried expression, the sunlight burned the back of Ivan’s neck, no doubt rushing through the windows to meet Alfred. 

Perhaps he did not belong here in the first place, perhaps he needed to be reacquainted with his nature. He had spent too many days among wildflowers trying to determine a dance he had never seen before.

“I thought I could learn something about you.” Ivan said, defeated. “I saw something new in you and I thought I could define it.

“Я родился Зимой, и Я тоже умру в нем.”

* * *

Ivan had immediately locked himself in the darkness of his secluded cottage once he had gotten home. His foyer was littered with letters that had been accumulating since his absence. His inbox did not have as many voicemails as he had anticipated, which worried him. His home smelled of cedar. Ivan walked silently, footsteps barely making a sound beneath his shifting floor. 

A soft mewl made itself heard further into the house, by a cracked window near the humble kitchen at the center of the set up. The window was stained yellow with time and earthly use, but the sun shone flatteringly into the room despite this. Ivan, with a mirthful smirk, walked further in with more confidence to inspect the creator of the unprecedented sound. 

“Привет, Дикий Один.”

A cat with a glimmering, silver appearance and fur long yet well kept despite the creature’s feral way of life, hopped on the wooden counter of Ivan’s kitchen. A tuft of such fur was stuck to the cracked glass that provided an opening to his house, proving Ivan’s suspicions.

“I am sure you are curious as to why I was away.” Ivan smiled cooly, taking a seat at his table, willing the cat to walk closer to him.

The cat did not belong to him, and Ivan made this known. He did not offer the cat food unless it asked, which was often. He did not let it in, but he did not attempt to remove it when it inevitably found a way in nonetheless. He did not name it, he was certain some young girl somewhere had already claimed the responsibility. Дикий Один was a simple term of endearment, Ivan supposed, he rarely addressed the cat, only truly spoke to it when it was already listening. 

“I am thankful to be back.” Ivan huffed, standing up once more to open his fridge to clean out all the food that had expired while he was away. “Has much happened while I was away?” 

The cat responded by leaning down to groom himself, Ivan smiled knowingly, “as I expected.” A bowl of cold mashed potatoes was the only thing not soiled by misuse, Ivan was not picky tonight, “you have always been a good house keeper.”

All was silent for a few moments, while Ivan thoughtlessly indulged in his meal, he let out a grunt of surprise, however, when the soft fluid motion of a beast’s coat rubbed against his calf. He would have assumed it was the cat, though this could not be the case, since the creature was seated in front of him, watching him blankly. Ivan quickly glanced downward, and was dismayed to see, and most certainly hear, the figure of another cat. The creature was rumbling loudly, a dopey, half lidded gaze adorning its face. Its fur was of similar length and luxury of the other cat, though a creamy beige instead of a hot gray, and its demeanor was much more forward. 

“A companion?” Ivan smirked at the cat seated at his table, it continued to lick itself as though nothing was out of order. “My apologies,” Ivan chuckled, leaning down to offer the newcomer his scent, which it took greedily, “I had mistaken you for a loner.”   
  
The cat did not appear offended, and Ivan watched with unhidden curiosity as the new cat, perhaps more of a kitten based on its size relative to Ivan’s longtime friend, jumped to meet its gray companion. 

“Did you rescue him?” Ivan asked, the newcomer wasted no time in grooming and rubbing against the old-timer, who, generally a creature of solitude, did not seem perturbed by the affection in the slightest. 

Ivan chuckled and set his leftover potatoes on the ground as an offering, the newcomer mewled excitedly and leapt off the table, not hesitating to gorge in on the meal. Ivan laugh more heartily, “he has an appetite as keen as his spirit.” He knelt down to rub the cat’s silk brown fur, which it rewarded with more low, rumbling purrs, it reminded Ivan of the popping of a distant gun.

Ivan spent the remainder of the day sorting through mail, and his voice box, and calling back his bosses and explaining that his time away in America had been a mental health… two weeks…

Nobody questioned him, though some seemed a bit concerned by the impromptu leaving, Ivan was genuinely grateful to have things back to normal, as normal as it could get. 

Ivan had settled into reading, and was not interrupted until he heard two quiet chimes echo from his clock, looking up, disgruntled and stiff from looking down for so long, he saw the foggy blackness of a winter night. His fire had long since died out, the only thing illuminating the room was a reading light his sister had given him many nights ago...

* * *

Matthew Williams was not as attractive as his brother, nor as intelligent, nor as interesting, but he was certainly nicer, and sometimes that was just as important. 

For instance, Ivan knew he could always call Matthew over to help him chop wood or burn shrubbery, and Matthew wouldn’t even have the balls to act like he’d rather be doing anything else. It was probably a problem really, how easy it was for anyone to get Matthew to do what they wanted him to do. However his simple mind was easy on Ivan’s nerves, who sometimes liked having a body there to listen to him without throwing him off with their own stories or problems. 

Ivan truthfully did not know Matthew well, but he still called him over a few times a year to help with yard work. Ivan never paid and Matthew never expected him to. 

This time, however, was certainly different. The terms in which Ivan invited Matthew over to his house were unprecedented, for numerous reasons. For one, Ivan literally invited Matthew inside of his house, usually he kept the young man busy in his yard, never within 50 feet of his front door. Additionally, Ivan offered him food, the most he did beforehand was point Matthew in the direction of his well if he got thirsty. Finally, Ivan told Matthew to take his shoes and coat off: it was glaringly obvious that Matthew had not been called over to do his usual work.

“I see you’ve got a fire going, eh?” Matthew chuckled nervously, taking his glasses off to wipe away the fog that had accumulated on them.

“If you see it, then it is there.”  
  
Matthew could never respond to Ivan’s aloof and backward answers to things, he usually just laughed or shied away. Alfred also sometimes could not respond, but if that was the case then it was always because he was too angry to. 

“Why’d you call me over, Ivan?” Matthew was never accusatory, nor did he ever ask questions for his own personal gain, he was a bit naive in that regard. He had no negotiation skills and remained unbothered by the rest of the world because he never got anywhere with them. Oblivion was a double edged sword.

“I want to talk to you, of course,” Ivan gestured to one of the arm chairs in his room, “sit.”

Matthew furrowed his brow and stared at the chair defensively, he was not a creature used to being noticed to the point of invitation. His eyes slowly trained themselves onto Ivan, who was unfaltering in his stance, arm extended to the innocently placed chair.

“Right, ok.” Matthew’s eyes did not leave Ivan’s, he was a wary soul, despite being so young, “this is new for you, if I’m being honest, so sorry if I’m a little shy or something.”  
“It is new for me.” Ivan acknowledged this, it would be stupid and counterproductive for him not to.

“The beard’s new too,” Matthew trailed on, “and I’ve never seen your windows open before, trying to get a little sunlight in here, eh?” The sunlight in question was warping around Matthew like a halo, Ivan took note of the peculiar difference. It was not blinding to Ivan to stare at him.

“I am attempting to accept a change of pace.” Ivan explained slowly. The only light escaping to Ivan was the artificial hotness that the embers of his fireplace produced.

“Oh, sure, that’s useful every now and then,” Matthew relaxed, “so what did you wanna talk about?”

“You know Alfred well, yes?” Ivan attempted to mirror Matthew’s own posture, critiquing his every shape with such integrity until Ivan seemed like a mirror of him. 

“I mean, I suppose better than most people,” Matthew shrugged, “but he’s kind of a hard guy to figure out, why do you ask?”

“I happen to know him well, too.” Ivan diverged a bit, he feigned a miffed expression to solidify his next act: “at least, I hope I do. I would like to be his friend you know.”  
  
“Really? Well, that’s awfully sweet of you,” Matthew straightened, Ivan mirrored. “He doesn’t have many of those. But he likes to think he does, of course.”

“Neither do I.” Ivan nodded solemnly. “I have seen… aspects… of Alfred, that I feel no one else has, part and sides of him, and I want to be able to understand them better— for his own sake of course.”  
  
“I get it,” Matthew nodded slowly, “you wanna get as close as possible to him? That’s great! I’ll tell you everything I know.”  
  
Ivan grimaced, “thank you.” 

That was pathetically simple.

“Being his brother, I’m sure you know what makes him happier than anything,” Ivan began. Matthew crossed his legs. Ivan mirrored.

“I like to think that I do,” Matthew said, “I guess… the happiest that I’ve seen him is at parties, he likes attention.” 

Ivan’s brow rose. That was useful information, he leaned forward as Matthew did, “but I think it’s more of a defense mechanism than anything, if you really want to know him truly, you shouldn’t shower him with affection. You’ll only be met with the same side of himself that he presents to everyone else.”

Disappointed, Ivan remained quiet, hoping Matthew would continue.

“He’s got some hobbies, but those—“

“Those are surface level attributes,” Ivan said cooly, “do you mean to say you don’t know him beyond his surface?”

Matthew flushed, back tightened. Ivan mirrored.

“It’s not that, sorry! It’s just… the way you’re staring at me… I feel like you’re trying to milk specific answers out of me or something.”

“I am only trying to gain a certain level of understanding.”  
  
“Sure I get that,” Matthew said helplessly, “but you probably shouldn’t force that understanding, eh?”

Ivan squinted around the halo of light that surrounded Matthew, stiffening at the sight, he stood up abruptly and marched to the windows, closing each one with an authoritative slam. 

Matthew glanced at him meekly, “I appreciated the light.”  


“I am sure that you did, but this is where I think the best, so continue.”

The embers of Ivan’s fire weakly danced around Matthew’s face, he folded his hands on his lap. Ivan was unresponsive.

“Alfred isn’t like me or you,” Matthew said lowly, “he’s done things a lot of people aren’t proud of him for, including himself... but that’s where what he has in common with the rest of us ends. 

“The thing that makes him the happiest is success, on every attainable level. I see it in how fast he grows, how powerful he’s gotten, he thinks everything is a race, or a game. I think the one thing that makes him happier than anything else is the satisfaction that comes with completion.”

Ivan’s lips parted, “completion of what?” He knew what. He was the only person that could know what.

Matthew shrugged, “he’s ambitious. Completing whatever goal he’s hung up, beating someone, winning, growing. Reaching the end. Satisfaction.”

Ivan nodded thoughtfully, leaning forward on his own accord, eyes bright and wild, full of light.

“I have seen your brother in a way no one else has. I have seen him completely ambitious, searching for the completion that you speak of.”

Matthew laughed, “yeah, most of us have. He’s obnoxious like that.”  


Ivan stood up, forcing Matthew to follow him, “you do not understand, but do not worry, it is not your job to. It is mine. I will do it.

“I will figure it out. I am so close, too.”


	4. Chapter 4

Ivan shaved his beard later that week, whatever he had begun to grow had accumulated to a beard, and, ashamed as he was to admit it, he did miss the stoic and aged appeal it gave him. He considered it a new beginning, of sorts. He would start fresh.

The angry snowfall on the ground one evening added to this thought, snow was good in covering age old memories that one did not wish to be visible. But, on the unfortunate hand, the cold succumbed rather easily to the spring and summer, and anything that one wished to keep hidden is unveiled, uglier than before.

Ivan inspected his porcelain, baby face, void of hair and emotion. 

Uglier than before.

Ivan considered Alfred, who kept himself hidden behind closed doors, on satin bedsheets, he certainly was not ugly when he was unveiled, not to Ivan.

Ivan feared the truth, he can admit that now. Not every instance of the truth, certainly, but the notion that such an idea can topple entire nations. It is very disconcerting to him. 

Secrets, therefore, were much more comforting to him. He had many, because he did not unveil something until he understood it entirely, on his own. Even if it, in its rawest and most defined form, was uglier in truth than it was in theory.

Ivan had secrets of Alfred. He did not want to make them ugly.

Ivan sighed, weak and accepting. He took a long bath, and did not move, even as the water grew lukewarm, and his fingers pruned. 

Ivan bathed and shaved himself every day. His skin almost raw with how he tried to purify it.

It hurt.

Two months since he last spoke to Alfred, of Alfred, about Alfred.

He needed to purify his heart.

The snow was stupidly relentless, even in the midst of March. Ivan did not expect to see the ground until May.

Ivan felt weak and isolated, he felt sick, he kept the windows open, the light burned his arms as it rode his face. He would get used to it.

It hurt.

Ivan would not call himself neither depressed nor obsessive— he left those two attributes to his elder and younger siblings, respectively. But he was perhaps doing things that one who possessed such traits might do. He lost count of the days, he was hardly doing his job anymore, but it did not worry him, he could not really be fired. He only left his bed to wash himself, sometimes until he bled. He only ate when the hunger grew so painful he would cry. The light that leaked into his room burned him. He could not escape it. 

He absolutely did not understand what he was doing wrong.

Ivan had not read a calendar until it was the middle of April, snow was still decorating the ground, but the storms had begun to lose their vigor; spring was approaching, and Ivan dreaded it fearfully. 

One day in particular, in a fit of self hatred and anger, he stormed out of his room with such intensity that he barreled into the grey cat that often visited his living space. It hissed in irritancy and even swatted at his ankles, something very unlike it. 

“I apologize.” Ivan said breathlessly, before moving past it and into the kitchen, numb to the scorching heat molesting his back, Ivan considered closing his windows once again, wrapping himself up in his veil of darkness, but decided it would not be any less overwhelming than being blinded by the light. 

“I am stupidly hopeless,” Ivan seethed, staring at the phone on his desk, it mocked him. 

“I have no one to call, to discuss this with,” Ivan said to the cat, who watched him down the hall with a miffed expression. 

“I cannot figure this out. Not by myself!” Ivan continued, gesturing wildly, running a hand through his hair, now shaggy, invading his face, and in contradiction, blinding him. “The next world meeting is not until July, I cannot wait for months!”

The cat, clearly fed up with his tirade, turned around and went down the hall, maybe into Ivan’s room, but more likely than not into the neglected guest bedroom, where it had made a home. 

“I need to leave,” Ivan spun slowly around his living room, taking his living space in. Dust had festered along his couched and tables, books and pictures. He had not moved much in nearly a month. 

Ivan did not throw a coat on, he did not even adorn his scarf, he walked out blindly into the snow covered scape, and despite its appearance it was not considerably cold outside. Ivan continued down his walkway in a simple sweater and boots, the sun was no more oppressive outdoors than in, and Ivan found himself not struggling to ignore it.   
  
He did not know where he was going, perhaps into town, or into the woods for a night. 

“Holy shit,  watch out!”

Stunned by the sudden voice, Ivan halted in the middle of the dirt road that lead travelers to his home. A slight turn of his head identified to him that he was directly in the line of a delivery truck. Not even the blaring of horns nor the muffled screech of tires against frozen earth had gotten a hold of him. He remained in place until a firm hand knotted into his hair and jerked him backward, so rough and sudden that he fell atop of the intruder. 

“Что за блядь?!” Ivan exclaimed, whirling around with such intensity only to freeze when facing his savior, toppling over onto his side at the sudden halt of force.

“Holy hell, dude.  Holy hell!”  Alfred nearly cried, hands shaking visibly as he reached out to Ivan, “were you trying to  kill yourself?!”

At first Ivan quirked his brow, unamused, thinking that it was simply a dark American expression for doing something unbelievably stupid, as Ivan just did. However the quivering of Alfred’s lips and hands, and the near comical glossiness of his eyes, tripled with the barely concealed wheezing, proved to Ivan that Alfred had meant it literally.

“Hет, of course I was not.” Ivan sighed, both relieved and suddenly exasperated, he looked out to the road, now empty, and imagined his brains decorating the ground instead of innocent tire markings. “I simply was not paying attention, I apologize for scaring you.” 

Both stood up slowly, Alfred more shakily than Ivan, though the latter was more shocked at seeing the former, than at nearly being killed.

“What are you doing here?” Ivan asked quietly, truly unsure of what else he could say.  “Thank you for saving me, also.” He added meekly after a moment.

Alfred huffed, “paying you back, I guess, for your unexpected visit a while ago…” Alfred looked around, “...and don’t mention it. This would all be for nothing if you went ahead and died before I had the chance to talk to you.” He added after a beat.

Ivan nodded, suddenly rather embarrassed. “Did you fly yourself here?” He asked, pointing to the aviator hat mussing Alfred’s hair.

“Yeah, duh I did.” Alfred seemed rather proud, adjusting the googles and looking towards Ivan’s home.

“Would you like to come inside?” Ivan asked, smirking at the innuendo his wording suggested, Alfred noticed neither the innocently questionable choice of words nor Ivan’s slimy grin, and he walked past the man without even acknowledging the offer.

Alfred did not remove his shoes or coat when he entered Ivan’s home, though he made himself totally comfortable on Ivan’s personal armchair. At first, Ivan figured the refusal to remove clothing was because his guest was not planning to stay long, but that didn’t make sense because what other reason would Alfred Jones have to visit Russia other than to see Ivan? 

So he then passed it off for being cold, though it felt at least 16 degrees inside, finally Ivan assumed it was simply an American thing, or Alfred had something to hide.

Ivan shook his head abruptly and sat on the chair across the room from Alfred, who had begun to watch him steadily. Ivan would not think about anything into more depth than the meaning presented to him outright. That was his goal. What better person to practice with than Alfred.

“Well then,” Ivan’s voice felt like gravel in his throat, “welcome to my home. How long will you be staying for?”

“As long as I want.” Alfred smirked at Ivan, perhaps mocking him for having such strict bosses, or maybe holding some other dominating power over his head.

“Do you see me as a challenge to you?” Ivan asked truthfully, careful to not comment on Alfred’s change in composure, “or a threat?”

Alfred shrugged. 

“You treat me different than everyone else,” Ivan mused, “that is all that I am observing.”

“Well because you’re different than everyone else,” Alfred replied, “you know shit.” 

“Ah, is that why you have come?” Ivan couldn’t help himself, he would coerce Alfred a little bit. Matthew may have had a point about not trying to get a specific answer out of individuals, but it was a useful game to play at times.

“No, I’m here because I know shit.”  
  
Ivan raised a brow.

“Well,” Alfred shuffled deeper into the chair, “I know that you know shit. I know the shit you know.”  
  
“Ever so eloquent.” Ivan chuckled lowly, not missing Alfred’s blush, even in the dimness of the setting.

“I know that you talked to my brother.” Alfred began, and Ivan did not show a hint of surprise, because he wasn’t. Of course Matthew would bring up the conversation to Alfred, if Alfred did not find him about it first. 

“What did we talk about, then?” Ivan would need to know how much of their conversation Matthew had spilled, in order to plan his next move effectively.

“He said you know stuff about me,” Alfred’s eyes narrowed, he looked haughty, like he had won, or even simply caught Ivan off guard. “He said you know stuff about me that no one else knows.”

“I could.” Ivan shrugged, avoiding Alfred’s gaze.

“I know you’re not ashamed,” Alfred laughed, “that isn’t in your nature. What did you learn? How did you figure it out?”  
  
Ivan stared at Alfred blankly, coming to the realization that the boy across the room from him looked like a cornered animal ready to strike. Alfred feared his country had been compromised.

“I know things about you that know one else does, because I have seen it.” Ivan confirmed, he then stood up and walked cooly by his guest, who scrambled up to meet him.

“But that is all,” Ivan continued, walking into his kitchen to pull out an antique kettle, “I only know things about you. Not your country, nor your boss, nor your people.”

Ivan was pleased to see Alfred visibly relax behind him, he leaned against Ivan’s kitchen table and began to remove his coat. 

Ivan turned around after filling the kettle with water and turning on the stove, he stared directly into Alfred, unyielding. Alfred wasn’t Matthew. Alfred could handle it.

Alfred even seemed to enjoy it.

“What did Mattie tell you?” Alfred asked, shifting the topic, a bit. 

Ivan shrugged, “similar to what you recommended when I payed you a visit. That I need to start looking at the ‘big picture’.”

“Did you—“  
  
“I did.” Ivan nodded confidently, “and it hurt.”

Alfred was quiet for a moment, before “so now what?”

Ivan watched the kettle steadily, observed the small blue flames that periodically licked the copper craftsmanship. He would make the first move.

Strategically, of course.

“I fear, mostly, not being able to make an understanding of the things that are presented to me.”  
  
Alfred laughed.

“So I therefore hyper-analyze nearly everything I come into contact with.”  
  
“Don’t you miss living in the moment?” Alfred asked.

“I do.” Ivan acknowledged, “I also have many secrets, because I will not present something to someone else until I entirely understand it myself.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Alfred tilted his head to the side, “to know so much yet say so little?”

“It does.” Ivan acknowledged, “both you and your brother suggest I live in the moment, in the light.”

“But it hurts you?” Alfred considered.

“It does.” Ivan acknowledged, “though that may be because I am doing it wrong.”

* * *

Alfred had accepted Ivan’s offering of tea. Ivan did not know how old, or what type, the tea was (“Chamomile”, Alfred wrinkled his nose), but he was thankful that Alfred relaxed more and more with each passing second, it would hopefully make this entire confrontation more bearable. 

Ivan observed, originally with an innocent stare, at the way Alfred’s pants tightened around his frame as he sat down. Ivan had noticed it originally too, after Alfred finally removed his coat, Ivan thought with an amused smirk that that might have been what the boy was hiding.

“You have gained weight.” Ivan stated, holding Alfred’s abashed stare as he sputtered on his drink.

“Have not.” Alfred muttered, then cringed when he heard how childish his retort was, “no, I haven’t.” He corrected.

Ivan nodded slowly, he worked on remaining cool and casual, he did not hope to make Alfred embarrassed or uncomfortable, though perhaps it will be impossible to avoid such a reaction from him. Ivan mentally chastised himself for being so blunt so early.

“You have,” Ivan repeated. “You used to wear a belt with those pants.”

“These pants are new,” Alfred insisted, fidgeting, “I haven’t broken them in yet.”

“They are at least four years old,” Ivan gestured to the dull, brownish stain on the beige apparel just below the knee, “These were the pants you wore at your annual Christmas party some time ago, when Comrade Kirkland got drunk and spilled a whole bowl of punch on them.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, trying to bring out a nonexistent bluff, “you weren’t even invited to that party.”

“But I hear things.” Ivan responded gracefully.

Alfred seemed to acknowledge that he had lost, though Ivan was not hoping to fight him, “you’re fat, too.” Alfred said weakly.

Ivan offered a genuine chuckle, leaning forward to finish his drink, “I did not call you fat,” he smiled in a way he hoped Alfred would interpret as kind, “sometimes gaining weight is a good, welcomed thing.”

Alfred still did not seem keen on offering a response, so Ivan went a step further, “I like the way that you look.” He said.

Alfred’s blush, uncomfortable before, took on a bashful appearance, his eyes scrunched up behind his glasses as he tried to hide his growing smile, “that’s weird.” He said, pointedly not looking at Ivan. 

Ivan’s grin grew, and he felt the trademark heat of a blush on his own face. He certainly would not consider himself a flirtatious man by any means, though perhaps that sort of demeanor was what he needed to take on, at least for tonight. 

“I have always liked the way you looked.” Ivan continued, shrugging, he was telling the whole truth, even before that fated, one sided encounter that the cold air of Maryland’s December had offered him, he had always been attracted to Alfred. Perhaps this attraction was more emotional than physical, as he and Alfred understood each other in ways not many others were capable of (despite their outward disinterest in each other). Though Ivan could not say with a straight face that he did not find Alfred attractive. 

“Really?” Alfred looked like he had been told this before, though had been lied to.

“Yes.” Ivan nodded, “you are very attractive.” 

Alfred looked trapped, or at the very least stuck, as he tried to form a coherent response. The way his face flushed and his mouth closed and opened soundlessly reminded Ivan of how he looked in his room, touching himself, thankful that for at least that moment, the world was ignoring him, it made Ivan’s own eyes droop. 

“Thank you,” Alfred had finally exhaled, “I like you— I like the way that you look, too.”  
  
Ivan smiled at their childish, almost innocent encounter, “I am glad that you think that; I am glad that you see me in the way I see you.”

“How do you see me—” Alfred was able to hold his gaze, although laughably expressive, “—well, I mean, what do you know about me, that you’ve seen, um— how you know me, like no one else— dammit!” Alfred suddenly looked irritated, he stood up so quickly his chair tipped backward, neither paid any mind to it.

“Get out of my fucking head, Braginsky!” Alfred sounded hurt, as though he was expecting Ivan to be manipulating him, which, to a certain extent, he was.

And so he saw it. Ivan’s eyes dilated with the sheerest forms of want, pleasure, success, and euphoria he could muster. He understood.

Ivan stood up wordlessly and walked to where Alfred himself was standing, he continued walking toward Alfred until the boy’s shirt was just brushing against the wall. Still silent, and without giving thought into the repercussions of his actions, Ivan’s hand smoothly ran along Alfred’s jaw, up to his cheek, resting just below the eye. Alfred’s face was hot and his eyes were glassy, Ivan could count every intricate crack and scratch on his glasses.

“What are you afraid of.” Ivan did not ask. He knew.

Alfred broke. 

“I’m not afraid of anything.” 

He was beginning to tear up. 

“I’m the hero.” 

Ivan’s other hand locked into Alfred’s hair, gently, he relished in the feeling of the cool, smooth strands. “Why do you insist on never looking so deeply into something that you can understand every single flaw it possesses.” Ivan continued, watching the tears travel down his hand, making his fingertips stick to Alfred’s perfect skin.

“Why do you insist on standing so far into the light, when it blinds you.”

Alfred could not jerk away, or perhaps he simply did not want to, Ivan was unable to tell, Alfred was unmoving, but weak.

“Why do you only love yourself the way that you deserve when no one else is watching. When you are alone.”

“Because it hurts!” Alfred finally cried out, “I don’t want to look at anything closely, I don’t want to read into anything deeply, it hurts so much to see everything that’s  wrong with it.  I don’t want anyone to see me, because it  hurts too bad, to see that they know what’s wrong with me!”

Ivan did not say anything to silence his broken, honest cries. Instead he leaned down to kiss him, and felt the hot tears of a mutual attachment, an understanding, on his lips.


	5. Chapter 5

Ivan never saw Alfred’s eyes close when he brushed his lips to his, so, after a weighted pause, he opened his own against Alfred’s face, pulling back only enough to be met with Alfred’s wide, hundred kilometer stare. 

Ivan took a silent, albeit heavy step backwards, taking in more of Alfred’s frame, he looked pathetically virginal in that moment, as though he had never been kissed before. 

He would not attempt another kiss, not without Alfred’s reciprocation, but he also would not leave, not like this.

“What did you see.” Alfred’s voice was so small Ivan nearly missed it as he studied a point above Alfred’s head in forced boredom.

“I saw you in your rawest form,” Ivan repeated, “in a way that no one else has.”“No, idiot.” Alfred’s voice maintained its quiet attitude, but developed a lower, more dangerous sound. He launched forward on a whim, fisting Ivan’s shirt into his hands as he threw his whole weight into the larger man, knocking them both into the table behind them. 

“I’m tired of your stupid riddles.” Alfred continued, breathing heavily, Ivan felt his heart rate speed up at the sight, “What did you see?”

Ivan felt his legs grow a bit weak as they supported both he and Alfred’s weight against the table. Or perhaps that is simply what he told himself, as he felt Alfred’s hot breath against his face. 

“In December, before the World Meeting in D.C.,” Ivan began, “you asked me to deliver documents to you, I went and looked for you, and found you in your room.”Alfred’s face paled, as though he remembered that very moment as Ivan retold it, verbatim.

“You were touching yourself,” Ivan watched Alfred’s hold weaken as he backed away, Ivan did not want to humiliate him, he wanted the opposite, “you looked so free and alive, it was so different from the artificial way you hold yourself to your comrades.” Ivan stood up and following Alfred as he backed away.

“You were very beautiful.”

Alfred was silent and perhaps not breathing as he desperately and hastily looked for something to put between himself and Ivan. Ivan did not chase him, he watched calmly as Alfred backed into the middle of the living room, crying once again, silent and defiant. 

“Do not run from me.” Ivan cooed, smile gentle as he lowered himself to Alfred’s height and slowly walked to him, “we are meant for each other. Show yourself to me, I will thrive off of it. I can understand you in the ways you deserve.”

Ivan felt Alfred’s resolve break as the room darkened, the light flooding the room did not surround Alfred in an extravagant halo as it had in the past, instead it touched Ivan’s face, gentle and shy, before filling each corner of his house, highlighting its every flaw and making all of it real, alive, and pulsing.

Ivan felt Alfred’s resolve crumble to the dirty floor below him as Ivan held his arms open, offering.

“Приходить.”

Alfred let out his first noise in a while in the form of an ugly, guttural choke, as he let himself free fall toward Ivan. Ivan did not know if Alfred was actually going to allow himself to face plant onto the ground, but he wasted no time by finding out, he met Alfred in three long, confident strides, catching the boy’s limp and slightly convulsing form without much effort.

Ivan intended only to hold Alfred until the wracks and tremors of being total barren and vulnerable ceased, and so it surprised him when Alfred curled his hands into Ivan’s hair and jerked his neck down to meet his lips in a kiss. This time, Ivan’s own eyes remained bugged and open as Alfred ravaged his mouth, perhaps in retribution for Ivan making him so weak and exposed.

It was a cute, childish attempt at a display of irrelevant defiance, and so Ivan smiled against Alfred’s lips, as Alfred snarled in return. 

Alfred’s snarl, as Ivan had predicted it would, melted into a weak and perhaps submissive whine, if Ivan were willing to look at is as such. He was not. He saw Alfred as his equal, he would not give him the time of day if he thought otherwise.

“Come.” Ivan repeated again, in English, and lifted Alfred until his feet found purchase on the floor.

Alfred looked like he wanted to respond, if only to fill the silence, or maybe to just give his mouth something else to do, but Ivan gently grabbed his hand and led him down his house, toward his room.

Breaking the somber, emotionally charged silence that always filled the not-quite awkward trek to a partner’s bedroom is near blasphemy. Alfred understood this, because he wasn’t a virgin, no matter how hard he tried to act above the carnal pleasures that plagued them all.

But Ivan wished to clarify, as he opened the door to his room, willing Alfred to step in first, “you are not a virgin, yes?”

Alfred wrinkled his nose at the impromptu question, and sat down on Ivan’s ill kept bed, “no, of course not.”

Ivan decided he wasn’t satisfied, “you essentially are,” he configured, “no one has ever made love to you beyond those walls you build up around yourself.”

“How do you know that?” Alfred bristled as Ivan sat down beside him, continuing to stare at the side of his head.

“I do not.” Ivan shrugged, “so then tell me, am I incorrect?”

“I don’t know.” Alfred sighed, looking tired and weak, and above all raw, his face flushed and shining and marked with tear tracks. 

Ivan placed a steady hand on Alfred’s lower back, and his heart reveled in the way Alfred leaned almost greedily into his touch.

“We do not have to do anything more, if you do not want to.”

Alfred’s shoulders slumped, he looked like he wished to quip with a witty retort, perhaps a ‘what are you, my husband?!’, or maybe forcing Ivan onto his back just to prove he could act alive without really feeling like it. Alfred knew now, and Ivan could see the unadulterated honesty in his eyes as he finally met his gaze, that such antics would not work on the Russian. Perhaps it was because they were ineffably meant for each other.

“I think you’re really great.” Alfred said simply, Ivan did not respond. 

“I don’t know how else to put it. After everything we’ve been through together, all of us, I never really knew any of them, and they definitely didn’t really know me.” Alfred searched for Ivan’s hand, he found it, “but it’s different with you, you can understand me, and I’m truly grateful for that.”

Ivan’s mind, for an instant, jumped back to their other comrades, who would probably be entirely uncomfortable with Alfred’s near declaration of love. It was brought back, however, to Alfred facing him head on, eyes half lidded, though meeting his. The intimacy of his shyness had Ivan once again run his hands along his face and through his hair.

“Vanya.” Alfred said with an honest assertion that broke down Ivan’s own composure with the power of a nuclear bomb.

“Yes?” Ivan exclaimed, inexplicably hungry for everything revolving around Alfred.

“Every time I touch myself, I think about you.”

Neither Ivan nor Alfred was aware of who initiated the third kiss, and, frankly, perhaps that was how it was meant to be.

When Ivan’s other senses caught up with his mouth, he felt Alfred half on top of him, fists curling snakily and with a vice like grip through his shirt. Ivan’s back was supporting both of their weights, and keeping them both from toppling onto the bed.

Ivan let his muscles relax, and both fell clumsily to lay horizontal on the bed below them. Alfred released a muffled grunt and his teeth clacked into Ivan’s, both wincing at the uncomfortable feeling. The impromptu pause caused Alfred to sit up a bit, he was knelt, his knees on either side of Ivan’s hips, his pelvis hovering just above Ivan’s own. 

“Can we keep going?” Alfred muttered.

“Do I look like I want to stop, Подсолнух?”

“I don’t know,” Alfred fumbled with his glasses, “gosh, sorry, I’m usually super suave, trust me... you just... you have no idea what you do to me.”

“Then show me,” Ivan was impressed with his own fluid confidence, Alfred seemed to be, too.

“Come.” Ivan commanded for a third time, gently hooking his hands behind Alfred’s neck and pulling him down to kiss him again.

Ivan allowed this kiss to be short lived, abandoning Alfred’s lips and tongue in favor of his jaw and neck. Ivan firstly found Alfred’s pulse just below his ear, and settled on that. It was steady and elevated, and Ivan was thankful for the level of reality it offered.

Ivan loved on that spot until he was satisfied with the bruise left behind, as well as Alfred’s flushed face and open mouthed gasps. Ivan wished to move to Alfred’s other side, to give him a matching hickey, but the American was too fast, latching his own lips to Ivan’s neck as he lifted his head. 

Ivan realized, with an astonished and unabashed gasp, that he has never donned his scarf, not even when he was indoors and alone with Alfred.

Ivan let out a loud and, in hindsight, embarrassing noise as Alfred dragged his teeth lightly over the scars that marked his neck.

“I trust you very much.” Ivan stated after Alfred had paused, though it was not like Alfred needed to hear it.

“I know,” Alfred said against Ivan’s adam’s apple, “there ain’t no one out there for you but me, baby.”

“Baby.” Ivan mirrored, giggling as Alfred ran his tongue over Ivan’s longest and most jagged scar in hot, wet strips. 

It wasn’t long before Alfred grew tired of Ivan’s neck, or had perhaps licked and bitten every inch of skin available to him, and so his fingers hooked under Ivan’s untucked shirt and unceremoniously began to hoist it up. 

Ivan responded in kind to Alfred’s own shirt, and once the two were rid of their first layer of attire, another long, fully aware pause was met between them.

Alfred ran his hand along Ivan’s face in the gentle and comforting manner that Ivan had done to him before, Ivan let his lashes flutter and tickle Alfred’s gentle rubbing thumb.

Ivan’s hand remained in that position as the rest of his body shifted down a bit so Alfred could begin kissing down his chest, he licked and nibbled at his left nipple until he let out a shaky gasp, arching stiffly into the touch. Alfred didn’t linger for long after that, lifting his head up to the other nipple, and repeating the same practice until a similar, though louder noise was heard from Ivan. 

“You are perfect,” Ivan laughed, watching Alfred languidly as he kissed and licked from Ivan’s belly button down his treasure trail, to the button of his pants. 

“Very beautiful.” Ivan praised as Alfred held his gaze, taking his hand from Ivan’s face to rub them both up and down his sides soothingly. 

“Thank you for that,” Ivan sat up, Alfred furrowed his brow, visibly nervous for a moment as Ivan gripped him by the shoulders, “I needed that treatment, now, let me take control from here.”

“Ok.” Alfred understood, though his eyes were wide with uncertainty, Ivan wondered if Alfred had ever been a bottom before, but decided against asking. Instead he nudged the boy to lay on his back so that Ivan laid directly above him, his arms caged around him in a way Ivan hoped was comforting. Ivan assumed it was, or something similar, as Alfred moved his hands upward behind Ivan’s neck and locked them there.

“Ivan, I trust you too.” Alfred said, smiling at him with a blinding innocence.

“Ты единственный свет который мне нужен.”

Ivan kissed Alfred’s forehead once before kissing down his chest in a similar manner, worshipping his nipples until Alfred was shivering below him. With a watchful eye, though Alfred’s own were squeezed tight, hands in Ivan’s hair, Ivan kissed and pinched the soft roll of fat that was layered on his stomach. 

Ivan half expected Alfred to complain, to tell Ivan that he was ugly or didn’t deserve love, but it never came, despite this, Ivan assured him, “I find you to be absolutely flawless.”

“I know,” Alfred glared down at Ivan through dilated pupils, Ivan’s stomach dropping in carnal lust at the sight, “now hurry up, dude.”

Ivan snickered at Alfred’s impatience, and decided to counter with an unannounced kiss directly on the crotch of Alfred’s pants. 

Alfred nearly bucked into the touch, head falling back into the bed with a whine. Ivan observed carefully, and continued by replacing his lips with his hand, gently cupping and squeezing the bulge he felt beneath the pants. 

Alfred moaned outright at Ivan’s ministrations, though it was still shy and shielded. Ivan watched his hand work, heart beating rapidly in anticipation to see the exact cock that Alfred had loved on, in Maryland’s fated December. 

Ivan was acutely aware of his own breath picking up, as well as the overall spike of the temperature in the room. It was mostly dark, Ivan’s bedroom, the thick curtains acting as a formidable barrier against the sun, however despite this, as it usually did, the light from multiple sources managed its way between Alfred and Ivan. Small specks and freckles of light settled on various parts of Alfred’s torso and face, Ivan kissed each one individually, grateful, and finally accepting the task of undoing Alfred’s pants.

Ivan stopped shimmying them down just above Alfred’s knees, resting back on his own heels to enjoy the work displayed before him, Alfred locked eyes with Ivan for only a moment before groaning and shielding his eyes with a hand, seemingly coming to the consensus that Ivan was going to stop and stare at him a lot. Ivan did, enjoying the already purpling marks that complimented Alfred’s deep tan, and the soft dark treasure trail that led to normal briefs.

“If I am being entirely honest,” Ivan’s comment broke the choking atmosphere, “I was expecting you to be wearing something more immature.”

Alfred’s hand fell away from his face, giving Ivan a crooked glower.

“What.”

Ivan shrugged a shoulder, “perhaps underwear with hamburgers, or the American flag.”

Alfred laughed breathily and scooted up a bit, squinting at Ivan, his nearsightedness even more of a problem in the darkness of the room, “to be honest, I was kinda planning on something like this happening. I didn’t wanna embarrass myself.” 

Ivan quirked an amused brow, “were you?”

“Yeah,” Alfred’s grin turned sheepish, “but, next time I’ll wear my most obnoxious Super-Man tighties, to fulfill whatever weird underwear fantasy you’re harboring.”

Ivan laughed and moved his hands down to Alfred’s calves, slowly beginning to massage them, “thank you for your consideration.”

While his hands worked Alfred’s lower legs, Ivan strained his neck to kiss up and down Alfred’s muscled thighs, until he reached a leg of his boxers, with a brief pause, Ivan glanced up to see Alfred staring down at him with a spacey expression, then Ivan planted his lips gently but firmly on the bulge of Alfred’s boxers.

“Oh…” Alfred groaned, “…you’re so hot.”

Ivan did not offer him a reply, he did not want any more diversions, but he was thankful for the compliment nonetheless. Ivan busied his mouth on Alfred as he moved a hand down to undo his own pants, drinking in every intricate noise Alfred was offering to him. Once Ivan had successfully kicked his caging pants off his legs and onto the floor, he lifted his head from Alfred’s undergarments, who immediately jolted his head up and angled his eyes down at Ivan’s own briefs.

“What, eager?” Ivan could not help but hold a knowing smirk. 

Alfred shrugged, staring innocently and unashamed, “just wanted to see if the rumors were true.”

Ivan laughed a little fuller, taking a hold of himself within his boxers and sighing at the much needed pressure, he was not deaf to Alfred whining below himself.

“They are not entirely true,” Ivan said honestly, voice dark with the atmosphere, “but they are not far from it. I can assure you that you will not be disappointed.”

“Cool,” Alfred leaned back, “means I can unironically call you ‘Big Guy’ now, right?”Ivan rolled his eyes, moving upward until his arms were blockading either side of Alfred’s body, his knees at his hips, “you would have done that anyways.” Ivan hooked a hand under the band of Alfred’s briefs, “may I remove these?”

“I dunno can—“ Alfred swore ineligibly “—yeah. Sure.”

Ivan snorted at his comrade’s antics, before using one hand to guide Alfred’s hips to angle upward, then moving both hands to the band of his briefs, pulling them down in one fluid, experienced motion. Alfred groaned as the hot skin of his cock reached the significantly cooler air, though Ivan focused only on ridding him of his final layer of clothing. With that task accomplished, Ivan moved his hand to grip the head of Alfred’s dick, offering it one experimental stroke, downward then up.

“Agh, finally-“ Alfred hisses through gritted teeth, “you’re so slow.”“It is called foreplay.” Ivan muttered, rolling his eyes at Alfred’s inexperience before focusing them again on what laid before him. Ivan tasked only one hand with busying Alfred, the other was in charge in keeping him from toppling over onto his side; that wrist in particular would hurt tomorrow. 

“Mmh—“ Alfred murmured through pinched lips, slowing beginning to undulate his hips with Ivan’s timed strokes. Alfred, for clarification, had absolutely no rhythm or timing whatsoever, so Ivan constantly needed to adjust his own touches to get the best reactions out of Alfred. He was a skilled and patient lover, however. 

After a few moments of working like that in silence, Ivan determined Alfred was stimulated enough to keep going.

“Do you have lube?” Ivan asked gracelessly, massaging Alfred’s thighs instead of his cock to help him regain focus.

“This is your house!” Alfred complained.

“You said you were planning on this happening.” Ivan shrugged.

Alfred was speechless for a moment, realizing his mistake, and gesturing to the lump of clothes on the floor, “left pocket by the knee,” he muttered.

Ivan moved down with a bearlike sluggishness to get the lube, he did not bother looking for a condom, he knew whatever Alfred brought was probably cheap and wouldn’t fit on him anyways. Besides, it was never a good idea to use a pants condom. He instead stood up and fished one out of his bedside dresser, flashing the metallic wrapping at Alfred and smirking down at him, though his grin fell when he saw Alfred wearing the same expression of trapped fear he donned earlier, in Ivan’s living room.

“What is the matter?” Ivan asked, climbing back over him.

“It’s going to hurt, right?” Alfred was already tensing up underneath him.

Ivan considered. “Yes, most likely.” He said truthfully after a moment. “But it will feel very good not long after.” He added when Alfred looked about ready to up and leave his bedroom all together. 

“We can stop if it hurts too much, right?” Alfred continued, looking more shy now than frightened.

“Of course,” Ivan chuckled, setting the lube and condom to the side of the bed and knelt down between Alfred’s legs who began to draw them up to his chest, hiding his face behind an arm again. 

“Fredka trusts me, верно?” 

“Right…” Alfred trailed off with a shaky exhale as Ivan wrapped a hand almost too tightly at the base of his cock, before leaning down to press chaste kisses along the underside. 

Ivan then moved his head directly above Alfred’s rigid manhood, with a hand still steadily holding the base, Ivan wrapped his lips around Alfred’s blood flushed head, sucking once before dropping a half inch lower. Alfred groaned appreciatively at the action, flexing his hips up into Ivan’s mouth so he dropped down another inch. Ivan let the hand holding Alfred’s cock leave, and focused all his energy on going deeper until his nose rubbed against the coarse hairs at Alfred’s base. Alfred moaned wantonly as Ivan deep throated him with vigor, hands finding Ivan’s hair easily, and locking on to hold his head in place as Alfred bucked up with a timed fluidity.

“God… Ivan…” Alfred sounded hazy and far away as Ivan concentrated on suckling up on the appendage in his mouth, thankful for the high pitches wail he was offered as a reward.

Ivan popped off completely for a moment, but returned immediately to lick a long strip from Alfred’s balls to his head, his own vision fuzzy as his eyes lidded in arousal.

“Ivan! Shit-“ Alfred hissed, thighs beginning to shiver around Ivan, who continued his previous ministrations of sucking Alfred’s head before carrying on downward. He inconspicuously rubbed a finger against Alfred’s perineum, which called out a reaction Ivan had not expected.

“Ivan!” Alfred slid his ass against the bedsheets, pushing Ivan’s thumb harder against the sensitive area behind his balls, and willing his cock deeper into Ivan’s mouth. 

“I-Ivan, I’m getting damn close…” Alfred panted, looking down at Ivan who freed his mouth and glanced back up, his face flushing harder at seeing the strip of drool hanging from the corner of Alfred’s mouth down to his chin.

Ivan nodded wordlessly, and moved his finger to tease at Alfred’s entrance, which twitched in response. Alfred quivered around him, both intrigued and disturbed by the new sensation, so Ivan began once more licking up Alfred’s cock and kissing back down it, dipping his tongue into the slit and drawing out pre-come, welcoming the open mouthed moans Alfred rewarded.

Ivan removed his mouth from Alfred as he lubed up the first finger, with one hand Ivan supportively held Alfred’s hip, and pushed the index finger of his other hand into Alfred, up to the first joint. Alfred immediately grunted and clenched down, as Ivan expected him to.

The older man rubbed his lover’s belly in a manner he hoped was soothing, “you need to relax.” Ivan reminded him.

“I know, sorry…” Alfred responded, and relaxed his muscles to a noticeable degree, enough for Ivan to push his index finger in to the first knuckle. Alfred let out a confused sounding groan, eyes squinting down at Ivan, miffed.

“Does it hurt?” Ivan inquired. 

“No,” Alfred shrugged, “just feels weird.”

“Good.” Ivan said nothing further, but was internally grateful that Alfred was able to handle at least this. 

Ivan reattached his mouth to Alfred’s tip, and suckled in time as he thrusted into him, who cried out lightly at the double stimulation, soon fucking back into Ivan’s pistoning hand. 

“Another,” Alfred breathed out, heated, more enthusiastic than earlier, “add more, I’m ready.”

Ivan did not question his demands, he simple pulled out his index and applied sufficient lubricant to both his first and second fingers. He pushed them both in, slowly, ignoring Alfred’s heightened cries and clenching walls until they were fully situated. 

Ivan said nothing as he waited for Alfred to get used to the newer, fuller feeling, though he did use the opportunity to fully take in the sight before him. Alfred was on his back and panting, his stomach was hard at work and Ivan could even make out the shadow of abdominal muscles. His thighs were spread provocatively, his head was tipped back, eyes closed and mouth hanging open. He looked thoroughly flustered, dark red blush staining his face all the way down to a hairless chest. 

Ivan grounded his hips into the bedsheet as he pulled both fingers out to the nail, moaning deeply at Alfred’s higher pitched whimper. Ivan finally permitted his other hand to leave the bed and enter his boxers, as he began to rub himself harshly in time with the more intense pace he set for his fingers. Ivan’s eyes did not once leave Alfred’s face as he moved his fingers.

“Is this what you dreamed about?” Ivan hissed, curling his fingers deep within Alfred, who moaned breathlessly and fluttered his eyelids open, “when you stroke yourself…”

“Yeah-“ Alfred choked out as Ivan unceremoniously added a third finger, without lubricant, “I think about how big you are- fuck Ivan. Look how sexy you are… touching yourself for me…” 

“Only for you…” Ivan panted, moving his hand further to fondle his balls while spreading all three fingers inside Alfred until he screamed out in what Ivan presumed to be pain, but he did not ask to stop.

“When I saw you touching yourself that day,” Ivan groaned out, “I went home and I… and I jacked off so fucking hard.” He usually did not permit his vocabulary to drop down so vulgarly, though Alfred was thoroughly impacted by it. 

“Shit.” Alfred heaved, Ivan’s stomach dropped as he watched Alfred fondle his chest and nipples with wide eyes. “What did you think about Ivan… tell me everything…”

Ivan spun the position of his hand so his thumb could prob insistently against Alfred’s taint, who hands rushed to grab his knees to pull his legs further apart. 

“I though about how beautiful you looked…” Ivan confessed, remembering the event like it was yesterday, “I couldn’t see much, but my brain filled me up with so many possibilities… how you looked from the front… above me…” 

“Oh god… do I turn you on?” Alfred gave Ivan a dopey, cross eyed grin, “more than anyone else?”“More than anyone else.” Ivan curled his fingers within Alfred one more time before pulling his hand away completely, staring unabashedly at Alfred’s hole clenching down at nothing. Ivan felt himself ready to burst.

“Are you ready for me?” Ivan had not intended for his voice to come out so sultry, but Alfred clearly heard it, as he moaned out, 

“Fuck yes… I’ve been so goddamn ready for you… for fucking years…”

Alfred began to stroke himself with on hand, the other holding a leg up and apart, Ivan let him entertain himself as he groped blindly about the bed in search of the condom. When he obtained it, and after ripping it out without much announcement, he looked down to Alfred, and watched with a self satisfied grin as he removed his briefs completely. 

“I’m gonna-“ Alfred choked out, squeezing harshly at the base of his cock, “Ivan, oh my god…” tears were actively streaming down Alfred’s face as he let his other hand leave his leg to finger his prepped hole lightly. “Ivan, Ivan…” he groaned, stare switching between Ivan’s eyes and what lay a little bit below.

“Yes?” Ivan stroked himself once, more for show than affect, smiling lazily. 

“You’re so gorgeous…” Alfred trained his eyes on Ivan’s cock, seemingly content on fucking himself on his own fingers while only just staring at the other man’s dick. Ivan did not prefer that route, however, but he gave Alfred the show of slowly and decoratively rolling the condom up. Alfred’s hand on his dick moved up to his nipples once more, the hand in his asshole up to four fingers, hips fucking southward vigorously.

“Stop.” Ivan demanded simply, and both Alfred’s hands moved up above his head without much complaint. All was quiet and heavy as Ivan carefully directed his tip to Alfred’s awaiting entrance.

Ivan pressed against it lightly, before leading the rest of his body over Alfred, his lips against his ear, “what did you think about that night, Дорогой.”

“You…” Alfred whimpered, tears still flowing, though more out of emotion than unbridled lust, “just you… the way you walk, and hold yourself… every single aspect of your body that I had memorized… and your voice… Ivan, your fucking voice…”

“Yes?” Ivan whispered, taking Alfred’s earlobe into his mouth and sucking, slowly beginning to push his dick in, stopping when the head was inserted.

“…god Ivan… Ivan…”

“Keep talking Alfred…”

“Ivan… I can’t… I can’t handle this!” Alfred’s hand’s scraped up his lover’s back, too gently to leave welts, “this is so much… you’re so much Ivan… everything about you… I can’t handle how perfectly you complete me!”“You sound so beautiful right now.” Ivan complimented simply, pushing another inch in, feeling the pulse of Alfred’s walls around him, feeling Alfred cry. 

“I’m afraid Ivan… of everyone else, of myself… and of you…” Alfred hiccuped, “but I need you more than anyone else Ivan… you understand me so well, just look at how well you understand me!”

“Yes.” Ivan agreed, pushing in smoother, not stopping until he was fully seated, until Alfred’s warbled cries mixed with his moans in a glorious cacophony. “I am made for you, America.”

“Yes!” Alfred screamed, the sound echoing around Ivan’s room and directly into his ears, jump-starting his hips to pull out and push back into Alfred so harshly his balls slapped his ass sharply, definitely at a pace too harsh for virginal Alfred, though he did not seem bothered, albeit his grip on Ivan’s back tightened until Ivan felt the skin break.

“I am designed for you…” Ivan’s voice became weak as he drove his hips into a steady pace, grabbing Alfred’s plump hips and hoisting them upward a bit, searching for a more perfect angle.

“Yes!” It did not take long for Alfred’s own body to thrust back into Ivan, as it had earlier, Ivan could reach deeper with this new angle, search and understand more.

“I compliment you…” Ivan continued, moving his hands down to cup Alfred’s ass and spread the cheeks further, driving deeper. Understand more.

“Yes!” Alfred’s face was an ugly mess of snot and tears and drool, though Ivan still leaned to capture his crooked grinning lips into a kiss. Ivan took complete control of sucking Alfred’s tongue in time with his thrusts. Without announcement, Ivan grabbed Alfred by the calves and swung his legs over his shoulders with a forceful strength, still fucking into him relentlessly. Ivan thrusted in this new angle for only a few moments before he hit the aspect of Alfred that drove him completely home.

“Yes!” Alfred caterwauled as Ivan fucked into his prostate by the second, “God, yes! Russia! Russia! I love you! Russia!”

Ivan felt tears of his own dance down his face as his balls drew up closer to his body, staring openly as Alfred’s cock waved stiffly with the rest of his body, the pattern of their bodies moving together was one Ivan wanted to memorize for eternity.

“No one can ever see you like this.” Ivan demanded, kissing every inch of Alfred’s face he could access, licking off every bodily fluid he came into contact with, “this is for me…”

“I am for you!” Alfred agreed, arching his back and clenching his hole against Ivan’s fully submerged cock.

“I’m hungry for you, Ivan…” Alfred said with more self control than he had had previously, eyes trained to Ivan’s as the man backed his head up, “fill me, Ivan.”

Miraculously, or perhaps simply surprisingly, Ivan came first, his climax like an orchestra of ecstasy rattling his bones so harshly he could not move, only drive his hips deeper, ever deeper, into Alfred.

“Alfred!” Ivan screamed now, the noise bouncing against the walls and even momentarily scaring the light away seemed to have a possessive affect on Alfred, his head arched back and his eyes rolled entirely into his head as he careened outward, his orgasm decorating his chest and face with a messy, white shine. 

For several moments, Ivan’s legs shook too much for him to pull out, and Alfred eventually needing to scoot away from him to help him remove his softening cock. 

Wordlessly, Ivan removed the spent condom and tied it, dropping it to his floor, where hopefully the cat wouldn’t get to. Ivan studied the floor a bit, chest heaving and head light, before looking down at Alfred, who studied him with blank eyes and sultry, parted lips.

“Я тебя люблю.” Ivan said simply; he felt that that was what Alfred wanted to hear.

Alfred smiled almost sadly, though bittersweet was probably the more correct term, his eyes trained down on the empty spot on the bed beside him. Ivan understood and obeyed, laying down on his side facing Alfred—who did not seem capable of moving just yet—but not before collecting the tarnished bedspread and pulling it over them.

“Can I stay with you?” Alfred asked quietly after several long minutes of them staring at, studying, one another.

“For how long.” Ivan did not ask.

Alfred smiled more fully, “as long as I want.”


	6. Epilogue

It was pathetically drowsy in London, England, even in the climax of summer. The fat raindrops fell from the sky in an endless breakdown, attacking every solid object with a saddened rage. Ivan imagined it as a crying person, attacking with pain instead of hate, though the result was still powerful.

Very few people were out, although, that may have been more due to the hour of the day than the weather. After all, Londoners were as situated to rain as they were to war.

It was July, and soggy hot, the weather was ugly and the rain stuck to Ivan’s chest and limbs as he sat contemplating on a bench. It was not poetic, not like other places, though perhaps Ivan was too busy enjoying the moment he was in to allow him mind to wander to the more intricate beauties London could offer.

The time was seven in the morning, Ivan had only arrived to London last night, much later than most of the others, and even on two or so hours of sleep and jet lag, he found himself pleasantly looking forward to the four hour meeting ahead. 

He could socialize, truly socialize, in a way he had looked down on before, his eyes would no longer flinch away from the light, though welcome it instead, and the light in return to him.  


Ivan willed his eyes to close against the rain, listening to the pattering against the wood and the ground so thoughtlessly that he did not hear two feet marching up to him intensely. He only opened an eye when he felt the kisses of the raindrops leave him shoulders: a black umbrella was placed above him.

“Mr. Braginsky.”

“Comrade Kirkland.” Ivan nodded slowly, getting up without further prompting.

“You’ll catch cold staying out that long, has no one ever taught you what an umbrella is?”

“I enjoy the rain.” Ivan said simply, though he accepted his comrade’s umbrella when it was offered to him. 

“You won’t by the end of this week!” His comrade laughed ruefully, sticking his hands into his pockets and trying to both keep a respectable distance away from Ivan, while also keeping his head under the umbrella. 

“The meeting starts in an hour,” Ivan’s comrade announced to him after a silent pause, “but I wanted to come collect everyone early so we could have a bit of, well, ‘socializing’, before we all inevitably rip each other’s heads off.” 

“I understand.” Ivan said lightly, the convention building coming into view. 

“Though I know you’re not one for socializing, you mostly enjoy studying the scene, right old chap?”

Ivan curled his mouth up into a smirk, perhaps he used to, and even perhaps he still does, though not to the darkening level he did. He has understood all he needed to. 

“I’m having an odd sort of, well, what’s the term- deja vu!” Comrade Kirkland remarked, “yes, deja vu, I’m having some right now, I think…”

“Is that so.” Ivan stared ahead, and imagined a bed in a field of flowers, two bodies dancing together in a ritual only they can comprehend. 

“Oh, bugger Mr. Braginsky, you’re getting sick aren’t you?” Ivan’s comrade looked up at him, face screwed up in an irritated expression.

“What makes you think that.” Ivan did not ask.

“That’s the deja vu!” Ivan’s comrade exclaimed as they both entered the building, Ivan taking no time to close the umbrella and hand it back to the man beside him. “Last time I came to collect you, in the December meeting in Maryland, you were damn sick, so spacey and blunt and what,” Ivan’s comrade said, “and you’re getting all spacey again, you ought to pay attention this meeting, I can’t make up another excuse you know, you’re a world power! You need to contribute—“

Ivan’s comrade’s rambling broke off as they both entered the room, eleven or so others had already gathered, though Ivan’s eyes could only train on the body where all the light in the room flooded to.

“England, dude!” America stood up so fast his chair tipped backward into Canada, who had shown up a bit earlier than he usually did to bring America the breakfast he had requested. Though it appears America had forgotten just how many breakfasts he’d requested from his companions, as Japan was on the other side of the room, holding a bag of McDonald’s with a confused gaze. 

“America-“ England choked as his former colony tackled him into a hug, “what time did you get here? I was going to come collect you next.”

“I came extra early!” America announced, glancing up toward Ivan, “Big Guy! What’s going on?” He held a gloved hand upward in hopes of a high five, the light from the window behind him bouncing, gliding, and flowing through his hand and clothes, reflecting off his glasses and into his face. Ivan looked down toward America, his blinding smile, the painful light surrounding him in a jarring halo, even the softer light bouncing off of Canada was being collected in the magnet that America projected.

Ivan took him into a tackling bear hug, sighing comfortably as the warmth melted into him, brightening his eyes and making his hair appear more blonde than ash. 

“Alfred.” Ivan whispered to him, before releasing him to the floor. The others in the room looked at them curiously, before moving onto their own socializations as more began filtering in. 

The light in the room continued to grow as the rain cleared away outside, but did not bruise Ivan, and did not blind Alfred, as the younger man sat back and observed the ongoings casually, not making a comment for once. Ivan could see his eyes wracking up a reason for England’s heated face as France approached him, or the way Germany knew to catch Italy when he was thrown toward him. For himself, Ivan took some time to talk with some of the individuals in the room, certainly at least the ones that were able to hold eye contact with him.

Ivan let Alfred analyze, as sometimes living outside of the moment did good for a person’s sense of self, as Ivan had come to realize. 

Ivan had come to realize many things, and was thankful above all for his ability to come to a learned conclusion. 

Ivan met eyes with the United States of America, who stared in a shared understanding, because to him, to Ivan Braginsky, the United States of America would always be more than that. Ivan would always see the real Alfred Jones.

And Ivan understood it no other way.


End file.
